


adorn his head like flowers

by iron_spider



Series: whump 2020 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: There’s a light on in the next room, low and glowing, which triggers his night vision to switch off.And Peter doesn’t notice anything else, doesn’t notice, doesn’t look, doesn’t see, because there’s a trail of blood smeared across the floor and leading to the far right corner. Like someone grievously injured was dragging himself away.Himself.Him. Him. Tony,Tony, it has to be, it has to, ithas—But no, no, no, it’s so much blood, it’s so much—
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: whump 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024756
Comments: 24
Kudos: 253





	adorn his head like flowers

Their warnings and doubts ring in his ears. 

“Spidey, remember, let us know if you see anything. Anything, anyone, any danger, you’ve got—you’ve got that sense, right—”

“You know that I do, Clint,” Peter snaps. The guilt comes along with it, in sharp pains in his shoulders, but he doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t usually use their first names, and he can’t take it back now, even though he feels disrespectful. He just continues forward and focuses on the task at hand. 

“Alright, alright—just, listen, you know he’d be pissed if you got hurt. That’s the thing. That we’re, uh, thinking about here. That he’d be mad. Because we’re gonna find him, so he can be mad. Well, not if you do the right thing and you don’t get—you know what I’m saying.”

Peter turns a corner, and Karen adjusts the night vision to the new room, tracing through all the nooks and crannies, looking for signs of life. She isn’t showing Peter that she’s monitoring his vitals, because he yelled at her to stop a couple minutes ago, but he knows she’s still keeping track silently and out of sight. Because his heart is beating loud enough to fill this place, every corner of it. Loud enough to bust his own eardrums.

Loud enough for Tony to know he’s here. Loud enough for Tony to hear it. 

If Tony’s here. 

And Tony better be here. Or somewhere, in the different places where they’re searching. Alive and well.

“I’m an adult,” Peter says, petulantly, making his way down the middle of the room. He keeps looking around, just in case Karen somehow didn’t pick up Tony’s signs of life. Because the bad guys masked it or some shit with some kind of technology. Not because he’s—not because—

Not because of that.

“You’re not an adult,” Rhodey’s voice pops in. “Don’t make me regret letting you go in there alone.”

“There were too many places to look, Rhodes, he had to—” Natasha starts.

“I go plenty of places alone,” Peter says, tempted to turn his coms off altogether. Do they not know he’s a superhero in his own right? That he’s done plenty of things without them and still does all the time? That he was out there in a pair of sweats and a mask before he even met Tony?

Everyone has been nearly insane since Tony almost died killing Thanos. Since Natasha literally came back from the dead, for some reason Steve won’t tell anybody. And they’ve been acting even more insane since Peter joined the team for real, which he constantly tries to live up to—being a part of the Avengers. Tony’s been semi-retired since everything happened—he got so screwed up on the battlefield that he’s still recovering eight months later.

Still recovering, and susceptible to threats. Like the threat that nabbed him when he and Pepper were out having dinner in Brooklyn yesterday. They were lucky the guys didn’t take both of them. But Pepper’s out here right now, suited up, searching herself, taking all of the blame, and Peter shares it too, even though he wasn’t there when it happened. Happy’s at home babysitting Morgan, and Peter’s out here panicking with the rest of the team. Whether Tony’s retired or not, he’s still the one they all look to, even Steve. And being without him feels wrong, especially knowing someone else took him right out from under their noses. Peter knows Tony’s been kidnapped before, but it still feels wrong that it can just...happen, after everything he’s been through and everything he’s done. It isn’t fair.

Peter lets things bother him. All the time. He doesn’t want to but he’s like an open emotional door, and every bad thing comes slamming in, banging around in his skull and up and down his rib cage, clawing at the outer walls of his heart until he’s sure he’ll drop to his knees and not be able to get up again. Coming back from the dead, or whatever he was, didn’t make things easier. Tony being so hurt didn’t make things easier, no matter how many jokes he cracked or sarcastic remarks he made. And now having Tony taken, when he was just trying to enjoy a normal night—

Peter’s anger is usually easy to check, but it’s welling up, now. Tony doesn’t deserve this shit. And the tracking they were able to do on these guys, who they still know nothing about, brought them to six different warehouses all around New York. A few of them were teeming with activity, and this one, the one they relegated Peter to, is completely empty. Completely dead.

Peter just needs to find him. Just needs to see him okay.

He sighs and keeps going and tries not to let tears sting in his eyes behind his mask. He tries to fight them back. His brain just keeps yelling _TONY DESERVES BETTER HE DESERVES BETTER_ and he’s terrified of what’s been done to him. He tries not to let his mind travel too far, because he doesn’t like giving into pessimism or fear when it isn’t about him.

It’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna be—

Peter hears them chattering in his ears as he reaches the next door, and Karen almost seems to glitch for a second, trying to run more than one scan. They’re trying to say things to him, he hears them, but his heartbeat gets even louder and he can’t hear over it, a booming drum echoing all the way down to his subconscious. He’s not focusing on them anymore or them treating him like a kid or them being different places in the city away from him, or anything else but what’s in front of him, because—

His senses are going haywire. Like an alarm in his head, everything keyed up. All of a sudden, like a rolling wave, finding him and trying to pull him under.

“Everybody, keep feeding updates, make sure to sync...”

Whose voice is that? He doesn’t even know, he can’t think—

He hears a high pitched noise. Not from anywhere around him, not close by. It’s rattling inside his skull. Like the personification of panic.

He presses his hand to the door, and pushes his way inside.

There’s a light on in the next room, low and glowing, which triggers his night vision to switch off. 

And Peter doesn’t notice anything else, doesn’t notice, doesn’t look, doesn’t see, because there’s a trail of blood smeared across the floor and leading to the far right corner. Like someone grievously injured was dragging himself away. 

_Himself._ Him. Him. Tony, _Tony_ , it has to be, it has to, it _has—_

But no, no, no, it’s so much blood, it’s so much—

Peter feels like he’s about to start hyperventilating, and he stands there, frozen, for a second. A second too long, a second filled with unadulterated fear and too many scenarios and he’s wasting time he knows he’s wasting time but Jesus, God, no, no, it can’t be him but it has to be but it _can’t be—_

Peter rushes forward, nearly slipping in all the blood and throwing his arms out to keep himself upright, and his heart is a gong and so loud so loud so loud—

He skids around what he thinks is a pile of cardboard boxes and it’s what he wanted and what he feared all at once, and his brain starts screaming at him _you’re alone you’re alone you can’t help him you can’t save him—_

Peter scrambles down, landing on his knees.

Tony is there, leaning against something tall and dark, sitting behind the stack of boxes. Even in the low light Peter can tell he’s pale as death, and the blood is coming from somewhere in his middle. The stain is so big that Peter can’t tell. He can’t tell. It’s everywhere, swiped on the ground where Tony pulled himself over, up and down his arms, which are limp at his sides. The blood is on his hands, as if he was pressing them to the wound and trying to stop the bleeding. But somewhere along the way he gave up.

His eyes are closed. It’s so dark that Peter can’t tell if he’s breathing. 

_He can’t be dead he can’t be he can’t be it’s not allowed it’s not it’ll never be allowed—_

Peter shoves himself forward, and pulls his mask off, tossing it to the side. He didn’t check on Karen’s scans of the room, he didn’t see them, and he can’t bother with it now, can’t worry about who’s here and who’s not, because this, Tony, like _this—_

“Tony!” he yells, too loud for the silence.

But Tony starts a little bit, his brows furrowing.

Peter presses one trembling hand to his middle, and even through the thickness of the suit gloves, he can feel the warm wetness of his blood. “It’s okay,” Peter starts saying. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Tony’s eyes open slowly, and Peter’s throat feels like it’s closing up. 

“Karen, Karen—I can swing back, uh—uh, uh—can you send a jet? I don’t know, I—what’s safer, what’s—he’s bleeding, bleeding a lot, uh, please—what’s better, what’s—” He stammers, and he can hear her scanning.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony says, and Peter doesn’t wanna think about how weak he sounds or what that means or what he’s been through, and his mind keeps repeating _death’s door death’s door death’s door—_

“No,” he whispers, out loud, without meaning to.

“ _Sending a jet to your location, Peter,_ ” Karen says, and he can barely hear her through his panic.

“Peter,” a voice in his ear says, a voice he’d normally recognize, if he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. He knows it’s one of them, but they’re all too far away to help him. “Did you find—”

He’s shaking, he’s gotta try to stop shaking—

“I found Tony,” Peter says, to whoever’s listening. “I’m gonna bring him back to—to the compound, go there, go there, tell—tell Helen, he—he needs her—”

They’re all talking, yelling, manic and wild, and he can’t listen and he can’t breathe and he scoots closer to Tony, touching his face.

“It’s alright,” Tony says, blinking slowly, and God he’s so pale. “It’s alright,” he says again. “Assholes left me here, so you’re—they’re not here, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

Peter’s heart twists and tries to burrow under something. Why is Tony concerned with him right now? Why does he even matter when Tony is so hurt like this?

“Tony,” Peter says, more forcefully, trying to think, trying to focus. He holds Tony’s cheek gently but firmly at the same time. 

“ _Jet is hovering outside, Peter._ ”

_That was fast, thank God._

“Tony, we gotta go,” Peter says, pressing harder to the wound in his side. The blood isn’t gushing, but it definitely was, at one point. He’s lost so much blood. So much blood, and Peter doesn’t know what to do about that between here and the compound, what the hell is he supposed to do about that? How can he fix this? How can he not fail?

_Focus, focus, goddamnit._ “Tony, I gotta carry you, okay? Okay?”

They’re all talking they’re all talking but he can’t hear them, he can’t hear them, they’re probably doubting him and his ability to save Tony on his own, and all he wanted to do was find him, all he wanted to do was save him, but now his fear is so big and overwhelming and _they have to get out of here—_

“C’mon,” Peter says, shifting closer to him. “C’mon, Tony, I’m gonna pick you up, we’re leaving, I’m getting you—”

“Glad it was you, buddy,” Tony rasps, and he smiles at him again, his fondness breaking through even in these circumstances. His hands twitch like he wants to move them, but he doesn’t, and Peter feels like he’s gonna pass out. Like they both are.

“Glad it was me—no, it wasn’t me anything, no,” Peter says, his heartbeat so loud it feels like it’s a living thing on its own, ready to clap its claws over his nose and mouth and stop his breathing. Peter feels for his mask, quickly puts it back on, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. He grabs Tony, easily and frantic at the same time, and picks him up, draping him over his shoulder. “Wasn’t me, wasn’t anything, we’re fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

Tony groans, holding onto Peter’s back in a loose grip. “Jesus, kid, I—”

Peter starts running, trying not to jostle him, trying to be as fast as he can be. He holds onto Tony tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, weaving back through the warehouse the way he came in, going up the stairs at the front. His vision is blotchy and going in and out and Karen seems to be trying to compensate. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Hold on. Hold on, you hold on, don’t—don’t go anywhere.”

“Not—not going—” Tony trails off, and Peter can feel his grip loosen and fall away all together. 

“No, no, no,” Peter says, moving faster, up the stairs, up and up and up. He can feel Tony’s blood seeping onto his back, and it fills him with dread, no, no, Tony’s invincible, he’s invincible, _he can’t die, too many people need him, Peter needs him, he needs him—_

He starts to hear their voices, intermixing with the howling in his ears.

“Peter, you’ve got to—”

“Peter, are you—”

“Peter, is he—”

PeterPeter _PETER—_

Peter becomes single-minded and knows somewhere in his head that he should be answering and he should be keeping them informed and he can hear them talking about Karen’s readings, but he just focuses on moving through the goddamn place and getting up to the roof. It takes him two more sets of stairs and then he kicks the roof access door open, and doesn’t waste time in shooting a web when he sees the shine of the jet out in the darkness. 

“Karen, get Friday to open the door,” Peter says, holding even tighter to Tony as pulls them up to the jet. 

It opens just in time for Peter to swing inside, and he hears it closing behind him. They’d dropped him off in one of these earlier, but Steve had been flying, then, and Peter stands there stupidly, amongst all the chrome, clutching at Tony. 

“Uh, uh, Friday,” Peter yells, looking around, finally seeing one of the long gurney strips attached to the back wall. He walks over and lays Tony down, cradling his head. “Can you—”

“ _Heading to the compound,_ ” Friday’s voice says.

Peter paws at Tony’s shoulder as they take off, worries over how slack his face is. He presses two fingers to his neck and finds his pulse there, but it’s weak, and somehow still erratic, like Tony’s heartbeat usually is. He stares at him and stares and hates seeing him like this, it feels wrong, it feels off, it feels too close to all these tainted futures taunting him behind his eyes. 

He tries to blink them away. He tries to tell them no. _No, you can’t take him, not while I’m around._ “Karen, how can I—”

A slot opens up on the wall above them, a shelf presenting itself, and it’s a ton of different medical gear. Karen highlights what looks like a little gun next to a bunch of wraps and bandages, and Peter quickly grabs it out of there.

“ _Tony’s internal and external nano wound decontamination,_ ” she says. 

“Okay, okay,” Peter says. He grabs a few of the sanitized wipes, and he needs to _stop shaking stop shaking just stop shaking_ , and he pulls up Tony’s shirt and sees the wound cutting up along his side. 

It looks like a stab wound. No, no, _two_ stab wounds, and Peter’s filled with rage and more fear all at once, a deafening cocktail that tries to stop him in his tracks. He tries to call back to everything he knows about the human body, tries to figure out what they hit and what they didn’t, but thinking about it too much makes him feel like he’s gonna puke, and if they hit something vital he won’t be able to save him anyway, he’s just not good enough, he’s just not—

He sees Karen scanning, and a screen lights up above the medical panel and Friday is scanning, too.

Peter’s too fucking scared to look.

“Tony,” he says, worried the jet’s motion is gonna jar them, mess him up, something. “Tony, stay— _Tony_ , wake up. Wake up, listen to me.” He starts cleaning off the blood around the wound so he can see it better, and he feels sick, he feels like he’s gonna fucking throw up, one hundred percent, it’s gonna happen. “Tony. Tony, it’s me, and you’re not—you’re not leaving me, that’s it. That’s, like, that’s all there is to it. So stop.” Peter tosses the wipes aside and starts spraying the wound with the gun, and Karen is trying to show him how to move, how it’s working, but his vision is blurry and he’s having trouble concentrating. “Just stop. Stop trying to leave me. Stop—stop playing around.”

He finally knows it’s enough when his screen blinks green, and then he pulls off his mask. He can still hear them in his ear through the coms but he doesn’t think they’re even talking to him anymore, like they gave up on that, knew it was no good, no use. It sounds like they’re all scrambling, moving around, and he hopes they have some way to track the jet. So they’re ready when he gets there.

_Tony has to make it til then he has to make it he just has to hold on that’s it—_

Peter drops his mask on the gurney, down near the end. He leans over Tony and holds his face in his hands. He can never handle it when Tony is hurt, when he’s down and out, because he’s always been larger than life to him. 

But more than that, he’s like his father. He’s like a dad, he’s like _his dad_ and even more so now, after everything they lost, everything they got back, all that time. He’s the person, along with May, that has his best interests at heart. He’s protected him in every fight he’s been in since he walked into his life. 

And Peter let this happen to him.

“Tony,” Peter yells. His voice breaks and one of his tears falls down onto Tony’s cheek, trailing down his chin. Peter rattles Tony’s face and tries not to hold him too tightly. He can’t hurt him more than he’s already hurt. He just can’t. 

But he’s gotta make him wake up. He’s gotta hear his voice Tony has to respond he has to he has to this can’t happen it can’t _it can’t it can’t—_

“Tony, dammit, I can’t do this,” Peter says, and a sob cuts through his breath, making him tremble harder. “Not without you. I know you’d say I could and that you’re proud of me and all that stuff, that I can—I can do whatever and I’m capable and everything, but I—I don’t wanna do it without you. I don’t want to. I won’t. I won’t.”

Peter stares at him, breathing hard, but Tony doesn’t stir. Peter doesn’t want a countdown until they get home or anything, because he doesn’t wanna know how much time he’s losing. How much time he might have left. _No, no, no no. Not him, please. Please not him._ He tries to swallow down another sob, and he leans down and presses his face to Tony’s shoulder.

He’d give anything for Tony to grip the back of his neck. To tell him to stop crying. To say _it’s gonna be okay, kid._

But he doesn’t say anything.

~

Peter sits in his room in the compound five days later, drowning in his waiting. 

He’s been trying to be normal, he’s been trying to go to school and to have lunch with MJ and Ned and he’s been trying to do work and go out as Spidey and do all of it, everything, while Tony lies in a goddamn coma in the med bay. Peter’s been trying to be normal but normal doesn’t feel normal in this circumstance, and he feels like any second now he’s gonna explode. He’s cried about a hundred times and everybody said he’s the only reason why Tony is still alive, but all Peter can think is that he’s the reason why Tony is still asleep. Not even asleep, not resting, not relaxing. In a goddamn coma. 

They found the guys who did this, two dudes who had beef with Stark Industries from some imagined slight years back, and they were only able to pull off their whole kidnapping drama by buying their weapons and tech from actual supervillains, some of which Peter’s had to deal with, himself. They tracked them down faster than he thought they would, and once again, Peter can usually keep his anger in check...but maybe he used a few too many webs. Maybe he was a little scarier in stealth than he usually is. 

It still didn’t make him feel any better.

He sits at his desk with his head in his hand, holding a pencil over a piece of paper, trying to start on his _Jane Eyre_ essay. 

Instead, he breaks the pencil in half.

_what if he never wakes up what if he’s in a coma forever what if morgan has to grow up without him because peter wasn’t fast enough what if he just deteriorates to the point where they have to pull the plug on him how could peter ever fucking get past that or get over it how could—_

His door slams open so hard that it nearly hits the back wall. 

He startles, glancing up as May rushes into the room.

“Honey,” she says, motioning at him with her hands, and he quickly gets up even though he doesn’t know what the hell he’s getting up for.

“What, what, you okay?” Peter asks. “What’s wrong, are you—what should I—”

“He’s awake,” May says, smiling at him, still motioning him closer. She reaches out and grabs his wrist, pulling him to her. “And he’s asking for you. Let’s go.”

He follows her in a haze, letting her lead him down the hallway, and he can’t really figure out if he’s dreaming or not, because his dreams the past couple days have been exactly like this.

“How did—wait, wait, what’s—how—uh, May—”

“He’s fine, he’s good,” May says, closing her hand around his instead of hauling him down the hall by his wrist. “Well, you know, as fine as he can be for the situation. Woke up on his own, talked to Pepper and Morgan a bit, asked about you immediately and wants to see you.”

Peter swallows hard as they get into the elevator, and he backs up against the wall as the door closes. He shakes his head as the tears start to crop up, right away, and he know May has seen him cry plenty of times but he pulls his hand from hers to cover his face, anyway. 

“Aw, sweetheart,” May says, moving closer to him and rubbing his shoulder. “You didn’t think—no, honey, no, you always have to have faith, you can’t live in the negatives, you know that—”

“I know, I know,” Peter says, shaking his head. “I just—I don’t know, it just felt like—my responsibility, you know? Kinda like. Kinda like when—kinda like—”

Gunshots. The way Ben just fell—

“Sweetheart,” May says, pulling him into a hug. “It’s fine. It’s fine, baby, I know that—I know how much you’ve seen, what you’ve been through, but Tony’s fine, Peter. He’s fine, he’s gonna recover completely.”

“I know, I know,” Peter says, leaning into her and swallowing hard, trying to wish away the memories that are coming up to find him right now. “I believe you, I just—”

“You just got nervous,” May says, rubbing his back. “Because it was him. And because you were the one—”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He was the one. He was in charge. Tony’s life was in his hands and his hands aren’t strong enough for something so important.

May pulls back and holds Peter’s face, brushing his tears away with her thumbs. “I’m so proud of you, babe. You know that. And so is he. You’re one of the people he trusts most.”

Peter doesn’t get that, and he never will, especially when Tony has people like Rhodey on his side, but the elevator door opens up to the hallway outside the med bay and some of them are standing there, so there’s no more fighting it or thinking about it now. Clint and Nat are talking to each other, Rhodey is reading something to Steve, and he reaches back and knocks Peter on the shoulder as he sweeps by with May.

May pushes the door open, and Pepper is leaving Tony’s room with Morgan when they step inside the inner atrium. 

“He’s asking and asking and asking for you, Peter!” Morgan yells, patting Peter’s arm as they walk by. “And asking and just asking again!”

“For his hero,” Pepper says, giving him a look.

“Oh God,” Peter laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Go on in,” Pepper says, motioning towards the room. “We’re gonna go get lunch started for all the lunatics around here.”

“I’ll help,” May says, and she squeezes Peter’s hand again, smiling warmly at him. The three of them head down the main hallway and leave through the door, and Peter quickly heads into Tony’s room.

Tony’s sitting up in his bed, staring at the TV on the far wall with a disgusted look on his face. His expression changes when he sees Peter, though, and he grins, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks ten times better than he did when he was just laying there, languishing in his mini-coma, and Peter is close to crying again. 

“Took you long enough, squirt,” Tony says. “Thought you wanted to keep me waiting, big hero status now, all that. I mean, I get it, but you can’t forget the little guy. One time I saved this woman and I visited her in the hospital twice a week for a month because she was telling me about her long history in the Paris Opera Ballet.”

Peter laughs and it sounds a little wet and dumb and small, like a child, and he tries not to act like a kid in front of everybody because he wants to be taken seriously and he’s a big Avenger now and all that, but May and Tony always bring it out in him. They make him feel like he _can_ still be a kid. Like all of that isn’t completely lost to him, even though it sometimes feels like it is. 

“Okay, so, like, you’re not allowed to do that again,” Peter says, walking over to him and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Ever. Not ever. You’re not even allowed to think about it. The whole experience, from beginning to end. Not allowed. Finished.”

“How the tables have turned,” Tony says, still smiling. 

“We’re not talking about me right now,” Peter says, raising his eyebrows. “I never, ever want to find you in some random warehouse, leaving blood all over the place, saying shit like _I’m glad it was you_ which could easily haunt me forever—”

“Did you just….curse?” Tony asks, cocking his head at him.

“I curse, I’m an adult,” Peter says, holding his chin high.

“Debatable,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes.

Peter feels slightly crazy but he has things he has to say. “You said that thing and what if something _terrible had—”_

“Nothing did,” Tony says, quietly, but it gets Peter to stop talking. Tony’s smile is less pearly white after that, but more calm and tender and sure. “Nothing terrible happened. Because it was you. That’s why I said it. Because I trust you and I knew you’d get me out of there and I’d come out of it alright on the other side. Because it was you.”

Peter feels a little frozen, in the face of that. “You weren’t alright, though,” he says, swallowing hard. 

“Well, that’s on me,” Tony says, shrugging. “And those pricks from Jersey.”

Peter sighs, not wanting to think about those guys ever again. 

“And either way,” Tony says, punching Peter lightly on the shoulder. “I’m always happy to see you, bud. I’m always glad when it’s you. You think I wanna see Clint rolling up in there when I’m bleeding out on the ground? No way, I was already hurting.”

Peter snorts, shaking his head. 

“And you worked the jet med kit like you assembled it yourself,” Tony says, smiling wider again. “You’re getting a promotion, better pay—you deserve it. You earned it.”

“You don’t pay me,” Peter says, smiling back.

Tony gasps dramatically, shaking his head and pressing one hand to his heart. “What?” he asks. “What kind of negligence—alright, Mr. Parker, I’ll get that taken care of. With backpay, and SI’s compliments.”

“Yeah, and maybe like, a car or something?” Peter says. “Or, like, my own wing in the tower? That sounds good. That sounds like...the right amount of compensation for all my pain and suffering.”

Tony laughs a bit, shaking his head, and then a moment passes, as he looks down at his hands in his lap. “But honestly, Pete,” he says, without looking at him. “You saved my ass, kid. There was a big chance I wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t taken all the measures you did, used that spider speed you got going for you—you never think you can do this stuff, but kid, you always step up, you know what you’re doing, you’re more capable than you’d ever give yourself credit for. You’re a hero, kid. _The_ quintessential hero. You can do anything, that’s it. No if’s and’s or but’s.” He clears his throat and looks up at him then. “And now I’ve got myself my own story, my own Spidey-saved-me story—I could never shut up about Spider-Man before, I’m _definitely_ not going to now.”

Peter’s chest fills with warmth, and he shakes his head, brushing off the sentimentality and the compliments, though they land and adorn his head like flowers. “I’m hugging you,” he says, scooting in closer. “I know what side your wound is on, I’m avoiding it.”

“So kind of you, Webs,” Tony says, wrapping his arms around him, patting him on the back. “I got you, bud. We’re all good now.”

They sit there for a minute, holding onto each other tight, Peter’s face buried in Tony’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for not dying,” Peter says.

“Thank you for not letting me die,” Tony says, gripping the back of Peter’s neck.

Peter smiles to himself, and lets out a breath that feels like it’s been lodged in his throat for days. 

Thank _God._


End file.
